


Only the Last of Us

by Werecakes



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Betrayal, Fili needs hugs, Fluff and Angst, Frerin needs to be protected, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mental Abuse, Outlander AU-ish, Soulmates, Survival, True Love, born at the wrong time, embarrassing ways to meet your true love, love reaches across time, no good deed goes unpunished, one true love, pushed into the right direction, taking advantage of good people, truths that are hard to swallow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:44:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werecakes/pseuds/Werecakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is hard living with memories that do not make sense, keeping them a secret all your life and in love with someone you have never seen before. Fili tried to live his life as if he was normal, but he knew he was not. Something was amiss with how Mahal had built his life and he doesn't know how amiss it was until fairy mischief throws everything upside down by giving him someone in his charge that has been long dead and is now a stranger to his lands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pendant

He looked at the small thing between his fingers as he rolled it around. It wasn’t significant, not to anyone else but him. It had no monitory value, it had no worth. Only a simple pendant made out of hard metal that was the size of the pad of his finger. The arrow symbol pressed into it was simple, three words on the back of the pendant the only thing that told what it really was beyond a childish mess. 

_Honor, Loyalty, Divinity_

He ran his nail over the little words letting himself be lost in them. He remembered the owner saying, “This is mine. This is my rune.” He never understood it, not until recently. The rune held all the description of the owner; honor like no other, fierce loyalty… a divine being… He had looked up the rest of the meanings; family, bravery, self sacrifice. All of it suited, all of it had been displayed every day. When things got too hard for him it was the bravery of the owner that kept him going. Friends were as treasured as family and treated as such with open arms. The sacrifice came in many ways. He remembered empty plates and bowls before them while he was given food in his belly. He remembered warm beds and soft furs and waking up to the sound of coughing and labored movements.

His throat felt tight forcing him to swallow. His mouth ran dry without the desire to pull his water skin from his belt and drink. He had not noticed his hands starting to shake as he continued to turn the coin like pendant around. Beautiful golden light from the crisp autumn day warmed a cheek, it was then he realized he had been there all night. But his body had yet to wish to move. 

He blinked several times. He tilted his head back in an attempt to keep himself from shedding a tear. His breath came out in a white puff into the growing morning air. He swallowed, gazing up at the endlessly blue sky above.

He had honestly believed that he had lost what he held. He remembered seeing it as a child, swinging on a cord around a neck he would throw his arms around with such glee. Then, one day, it was simply gone. He had spent months scouring his village, pulling up boards in his home, asking others where it could have possibly gone only to have it missing, as if a fairy came and picked it up. Then, by chance, he had been out on a walk, late at night while trying to gather his strange thoughts.

He had another argument with his uncle and mother. They yelled at him, telling him that there was no way he could remember what he had. They grew heated, shouting with the rage of broken hearts demanding Fili reveal who was the heartless prankster behind the information he had. 

_"You cannot remember what you never lived!" Dis was almost to tears, her fire red hair was in a tangled mess about her tear streaked cheeks. She wiped at the corner of her eyes with her blue sleeve like a child. She turned to her older brother with such pain in her expression that it stabbed Fili in the soul. "You find who had convinced him of this! You find whoever is poisoning my son with notions that this behavior is acceptable!!"_

_"I will!" Thorin pulled his little sister close to him. He cradled her head to his chest as she sobbed. He glared at Fili who stood still in shock. "You will get a proper lashing for this boy. Do you hear me? This is no laughing matter!"_

_Fili looked over to Kili who was just as stunned as him, the archer opened and closed his mouth. “Bu- Wha-.”_

_Fili made a sound as if to start talking again only to have Thorin rip away from Dis who wailed out, “No more!!” The rightful king under the mountain grabbed his heir by the arm. He dragged him to the door and threw him out in the cold. Fili fell to his hands and knees on the frozen dirt looking up as Kili shouted. “He has done nothing wrong!!”_

_"Do not interfere!" Thorin barked, barely having the care to throw Fili his coat and boots. He slammed the door barring the archer from running outside to his brother’s side. Fili slowly stood up, his things in his hands as he stared at the closed door of the hut he lived with his family in. Crying and shouting were loud, muffled only by the wooden walls._

That was how he found himself there. Wondering places he had yet to be, only for the sake of moving through the cold of the night. It had been a glint off of the moon’s light that he curiously picked up his little treasure. It had filled his mind with memories that he should not have, memories that he kept quiet about until last night. It pulled at his heart like bitter sweet music reminding him of the strange emotions the memories brought. He knew he loved the owner of the pendant. He loved a person he did not know was alive or dead, or had they ever existed? Was he simply insane and his mother and uncle were dreading the curse of the Durin’s befalling him at such a young age? Did Mahal’s flipped coin during his creation give him an ill fate like his grandfather and great grandfather?

If that was true, all of it… it did not make him feel any better. He could not convince himself that this person that he could not imagine the face of, cannot fantasize what the voice sounded like, was someone he was not connected to in the deepest way.

Fili closed his eyes, sending out a prayer to the gods above. “Please… just this once… please… have pity on me.”

—————————————-

A loud car rushed by, the wheel traction echoing and wet from the rain slicked roads. A light scanned the ground slowly as heavenly tears battered against the plastic of a red and white umbrella.

"Where the fuck did it go?" Eyes squinted in the dark.

There was a ring on a cell phone that was fished out quickly. The man answered, sandwiching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued to search the ground.

"Yeah?… yeah. Well, no I wasn’t planning onnnn," he let out a long sigh abandoning his search. "Mom, when was the last time you ate?… No a granola bar doesn’t count! For ffff- Well what do you have in your fridge? What do you mean you can’t get up?! I-" He turned sharply on his heel, storming through puddles as he headed for his car. "I’m coming over right now and if that stupid bitch is there I’m going to- MOM! Just because she’s your daughter doesn’t mean I have to keep her as my sister! She’s a bitch and I’ll be right over to feed you because, apparently no one knows how to take care of you besides me!!"

He wrenched open his car door, sitting in the driver’s seat. He threw his phone onto the passenger’s side as he juggled his keys. Grumbling with hot, angry breath, “Take a vacation, Frerin, it’ll do you wonders. Vacation my ass, couldn’t even go camping for a full night without fucking Naem nearly killing you, mom. Oh and don’t worry the only damn thing dad ever gave me is now gone and I can’t find it!” He flicked down the passenger side visor and looked at the picture of an old man with a scruffy gray beard smiling. He glared at the pinned up picture, “You better give it back to me, old man! That was my rune!”


	2. Punishment

Fili received his lashings like any man should. He held onto the post, his torso bare. He understood he was to be made an example of, thus why he only stared ahead while Thorin shouted to the dwarves that had gathered around. It was necessary to demonstrate that not even your bloodline could escape the laws. One of their laws held a heavy stipulation that if any spoke ill of their honored dead then a hundred lashings was to be given.

Thorin dropped the coiled pieces of leather that met up to the handle that his hand clutched to. He pointed out to the crowd as he shouted in his demanding, baritone voice. 

“As has been decreed in our own laws by our forefathers, any who shall slander the name of our honored dead must be punished!” He paced like a hungry warg, eyes fixed on the crowd. “Even if no harm is meant, the law must be upheld! My own heir, deceived by a wicked creature, must pay a price that should be given a hundred times over to who had manipulated our noble brother!”

There was a murmur in the crowd, heads turned to exchange glances, others nodded in agreement.

“Someone had spun lies so convincingly that Fili,” Thorin gestured over to his nephew who was tied to the post. “Believes lies about his own uncle! Honorably burned in Moria!!”

Fili stiffened as the crowd burst into hissing shouts. Moria, where there were too many dead to count. The bodies couldn’t be buried, could not be laid to rest in the stone, so the bodies had been stacked like cordwood. Left out in the hot sun for the skin to start waxing to make it easier for them to be be burned. Thorin had never talked about it, never said a word. 

Blue eyes wanted to turn towards his king, beg for an explanation. What Thorin said had sent him reeling. He only had one uncle, that was Thorin himself, the only relatives that were from his mother’s side he could name all the way back to Durin the Deathless. His mind tried to clutch at this new knowledge, washing out Thorin’s voice as he continued to rally the locals. He knew Thorin was trying to make Fili look just in the eyes of the people, an equal they can trust when time came and Fili could have a crown upon his brow. They would know him to be fair, they would know him to be mortal and not a deity ordained by “god” as human kings proclaimed themselves to be. Fili would be normal and thus have more a following, he would be more beloved by his people. 

It was the crack of the whip that brought him back to reality. The quick sting from being cut open by fast moving leather knots tried to pull a shout from his lungs. He was fast to choke it down. He would take his punishment in silence. He would stand on his own two feet and show that he could take anything. 

He didn’t count, each crack of the whip took a sliver of flesh. It wasn’t until he slipped on his own blood, dizzy from the loss, that he heard something beyond the reverent silence of people watching. He recognized it as his mother’s voice that started, joined in a second later was his brother, begging Thorin to stop. Such a punishment was harsh, and with Thorin’s breathless words Fili agreed, “Our laws must be upheld.” 

Fili tried to get his feet under him, not fully understanding why he couldn’t will his feet under his weight as he dangled from the iron nail that served as a hook. It was strange what the pain was doing to his body, making it so he couldn’t control it. His legs too weak to move more than a scrape across the wooden platform where punishments were dealt. He tried to look over his shoulder to where he had heard his family. Kili was holding onto their mother behind the stockade. Fili could barely see their features, his vision flowing from crisp and sharp to blurred between heaving breaths. Kili’s jaw was tightly set, an arm around Dis, clutching at her side while the other had a firm hold of her wrist. Her wild red hair hid most of her round face from Fili’s sight, but the way she moved he could guess she was crying. 

“Fili.”

He didn’t know where the voice was coming from, all he could tell right now, for certain, was that he hurt, everything else was numbing. 

“Fili!” A hand pressed against the back of his head giving him a focal point. He looked at Thorin who looked worn and old. His uncle hooked his arms under Fili’s armpits and lifted, helping him steady onto his feet. “Keep facing the post. I’m to lash your back, not take out your eyes.”

Thorin took hold of Fili’s trousers when he started to waver, something shifted with the fabric before brushing over Thorin’s fingers and fell to the wood. It had not been enough for him to notice as he was more concerned with making sure Fili could stand upright. When Fili took several deep breaths he managed to keep his feet under him. The prince slowly faced back to the post, pressing his forehead against the splintery wood. 

“Only a few more.” Thorin whispered before taking up position once more. 

True to his word, it was only three or four whips more before the crowd burst into cheers. Many seemed quite proud of their prince to take such a punishment so well. The boasted that he was the strongest, as expected from the Line of Durin, not a sound had come from his lips, not one beg, not one humiliating moment. 

Fili could hear the sounds of feet, feel the bounce of hard steps making the old weathered wood of the platform vibrate. His eyes refused to open more than a fraction as something pressed up against his back. He felt the pull of a knife cutting at the rope that tied his hands together over the old iron nail. He collapsed down, the weight of his back moved him. He could barely recognize the warmth of his own mother as she settled his shoulders and head on her lap. Her calloused hands stroking at his cheeks. 

Kili came into sight, working out the knots of the ropes that remained around his wrists. He looked up at the blue sky, endless and brilliant as his mother and brother worked together to try to lift him from his dead weight. He really didn’t want to move, he just wanted to look at the sky. He closed his eyes as he was thrown heavily against his brother’s back, his chin hitting against Kili’s ear making his sibling wince from the sudden impact and from the weight he had to bear. 

“Let me carry him.” Thorin spoke up.

“No!” Dis kept behind Kili as he started to go down the steps from the platform. “I know you did what you had to do… but…”

“I know.” Thorin swallowed as he watched his sister and nephews leave. He wouldn’t be able to visit until Dis was calmed. She was upset, she just had to stand by and watch one of her babies get mutilated by her own brother. The law was the law. They all respected it, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept what had to be done.

Thorin looked over at the puddle of blood, his precious nephew’s blood. He felt sick seeing the thin strips of flesh that looked like dead worms. He dropped the whip in favor for a bucket that he took down to a nearby well. He filled it, coming back to slosh the water over the blood. Some of the blood and flesh washed over something that glinted now that it was freed of sticky red. He crouched down, it was the size of a small coin. Curious, he reasoned that it must have fallen out of Fili’s pocket. He did feel something when he had been righting his nephew earlier.

His eyes widened, he slapped a hand over his mouth as he choked down an involuntary desire to vomit. His figures worked the pendant down to his palm. He clutched it in his fist, sliding his boots over the water mixed with his nephew’s blood. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly as old memories came flooding back. He had tried so hard to forget, to suppress all the pain of losing so much at once. 

\-------------------------------

“No.” Frerin frowned as he looked over the jewelry case. 

“Oh my god! Frerin, just pick one!” Frerin’s best friend rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the growing headache.

“It has to be the same, if it’s not then how can it replace it?” Frerin frowned.

“It can’t be exactly the same.” The dark haired man sighed. “If it was then it would be the necklace you lost and you wouldn’t be making me take you to every wiccan store within a two hundred mile radius of home.”

“You’re the witch here, Elros, I thought you would know where to go.” Frerin crouched down to the side, his long hair curtaining as he tried to get a better view of a necklace. He sighed and stood up fully. He started walking out of the shop, Elros following. “Can’t you just do a finding spell or put a charm on a dog and have it hunt the thing down or something?”

“You serious?” Elros rose his lip in disgust. “You think that magic can do that?”

“Hey, I don’t claim to know anything about magic! Dad was the one that was in your coven, not me.”

Elros sighed as Frerin got into his car. He leaned against the door before his friend could shut it. “Look, magic is simply a belief system, but like any belief system we have our miracles. We don’t think having a fish and two loafs of bread is some kind of miracle. Communication with spirits be it human, plant, animal, hell even rocks, is a miracle. And those miracles are spells.”

“Could you stop saying ‘miracle’ I’m going to start repeating it in my head for the next day and a half thinking how funny it rolls off the tongue.”

“Fine, but those are our spells. Spells are seen often because it’s just influence of your will to that of the world around you. Influencing the wind to blow harder, influencing a fire to spread, inf-”

“My foot is about to influence your butt into the car.”

Elros punched Frerin’s shoulder before rounding the car to get in. Frerin rubbed at his charlie horse. “Asshole.”

“I’m trying to explain something and you threaten me. I was acting within my right.”

“Fine, finish telling me what you can do for my crazy obsession with my pendant because currently I’m thinking that dad the grey fucking ran off with it like the damn imp he is!”

Elros smirked. “Dad the grey? Really?”

“Don’t even start.”

“You really are fucked up.” Elros grinned, resting his head back. “Sometimes… I think you were born wrong.”

Frerin frowned while starting up the car. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, but I had dreams of you getting your head chopped off.”

“And you call me fucked up.”

“No, you… um… you’re in this weird looking armor and you have this amazing silver shield with blue gems in it. You’re fighting in a battle that is immense. Your sword breaks and you use only your shield to defend yourself until you grab this weapon that looks like a hand rake made out of rusted nails and wood. This white giant comes at you and you slice at it, carving into its skin. It grabs you by the leg, pulls you upside down and with two powerful chops your head is off. I wake up when I hear a deep voice screaming out your name.”

“So you think that I can’t fight my own battles and they keep getting bigger and bigger to the point it’ll become overwhelming and I’ll die.”

“So says your dream analysis books, but for me… I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I think it means something more, just not sure what. Hey, you okay? You look like you’re about to ralph.”

“I’m not.” Frerin closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. “Just hurting.”

“Need me to drive.”

“Yeah, probably for the best.” Frerin unclipped his seatbelt slowly. He got out a hand pressed against his lower back as each step made him hiss with pain. “Why the hell does this happen?” 

“No idea.” Elros passed him. “Maybe you’re cursed.”

“Aren’t you a big ray of sunshine today. Telling me about how you dream of me being killed and now how I’m cursed.”

“That’s what I’m here for, to make it worth your while to face the day.”


	3. Poultice

Kili placed the cold, wet bandages over his brother’s lacerated back. The old strips of cloth sat in a basket to the side, brittle and red from dried blood. He dabbed away at one cut that refused to stop bleeding. He could feel a flap of skin trying to pull off. Fili whimpered in his troubled faint, not yet able to even have the blessing of fully falling asleep. 

“Sorry,” Kili whispered in the empty room. Their mother had left to fetch more cold water while Kili tended to his sibling, trying to keep the gathering flies away. 

He moved his bloodied hands up to Fili’s hair, gathering back up the loose locks. He twisted them around into a large braid before taking out his own hair clip. Chocolate brown hair spilled over his shoulders, curtaining down, narrowing his sight to red welts that creeped over Fili’s neck and shoulders. He pinned up Fili’s hair with his own clip to help keep it out of the wounds. When he pulled back his hand, brushing his own hair behind an ear, he felt sick. He pressed his lips together as if the action would stop his throat from constricting and his eyes from stinging. Blood stained Fili’s hair from where he had touched it. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. Fili didn’t deserve this kind of punishment. He didn’t do anything wrong, only confessed something that he had kept locked away in his heart for years.

“You will heal up, quickly,” Kili managed to whisper out, more to reassure himself than Fili. He shooed a flie away with a flick of his wrist before picking up a cold strip of cloth from the bucket beside him. He rung it out, the sound of the dripping water and his own sniffle the only one in the room besides the annoying hum of fly wings. “Amad went to get more water, and look for herbs. The, uh, the healer was out, but she’s good at… at…” Kili laid to new strip of cloth over Fili’s back earning a hiss then a soft sigh as the cold worked against the hot wounds. “...at finding a way…”

It was hours afterwards that Kili found his voice again. He had boiled the old bandages and washed them in the steaming water. He changed Fili’s bandages once more, thankful that his brother had some how found a way to sleep on the hard table he was face down on. He would re-pin Fili’s hair time and time again when the silken locks would stray. He had picked up his fiddle and played it a little to pass the time, but what made him speak was when his mother came back, two large buckets in hand with herbs stuffed in her belt. Her wild, red hair, had leafs and and bits of sticks showing she had gone deep in the forest.

“How is your brother?” She huffed, as Kili quickly got to his feet to relieve her of the water buckets.

“He hasn’t woken.”

“No surprise there, my little raven. Pain has a way to tax the body like no other.” She stepped over to the hearth, grabbing up the fire poker and pulling on a rod to bring a pot out of the flame’s heat. He checked the boiling water. “Is this clean?”

“Yes.” Kili grabbed the bit of leather that was hanging onto Dis’ hair, the tie still trying to do its job even after whatever she had put it through. He gathered his mother’s hair as she started to throw plants into the small pot. He tied it all back into a single pony tail, her intricate braids pinned against her scalp and out of her way from his ministration. “I was about to boil his old bandages for a new change.”

“Fetch a new pot for that, will you?” 

Kili did as he was told. His mind was strangely blank as he continued to work. He boiled the bandages clean, he went to drop them into cold water only to be stopped. His mother took the hot bandages and made him fetch the pestol and mortar. Together they mashed up the leftover herbs, mixing it with some of the boiled elixir his mother had concocted. She worked slowly, showing him every movement.

“This is something your father had taught me,” she wove several swatches of bandages together. “Now take a little of the medicine and spread it evenly throughout the middle. That’s it, now we fold it.”

“A poultice?” Kili recognized the type of bandage. Oin had made some for him when he was little and cut his leg open on an axe when chopping wood. But what he remembered was stitches pulling the meat of his leg back together before the numbing poultice was applied. When his mother produced a needle and thread he grimaced. 

Dis pulled back the bandages, raw flesh laid out of place, splayed and split open. She swallowed back the whimper of agony seeing one of the boys in such a state. She ran her fingers over his slack cheek. It was best he woke up now than to wake to pain and thrash against her needle. 

“Fili, wake up, my morning light.” She gently tapped his cheek with the back of several fingers. 

“Wouldn’t it be best for him to sleep?”

“No,” she looked up to her youngest. “I’ve had to mend a few wounds in my time, when they wake and move it can pull the stitching and harm them further. Fili, wake up.”

Fili groaned, his eyes barely fluttering half open.

“Hello, Fili,” Kili kept his voice soft as the tone their mother was using. He could see the glazed exhaustion in his brother’s eyes. “Amad is going to mend your back, it may hurt.” He looked to the spanse of flesh that was nothing but a criss cross of gaping wounds. He returned his gaze to his brother’s half awake state. “It may hurt a lot. Try to bare with us.”

Fili nodded. He squirmed a little to bring his shoulders more square with the edge of the table, it would allow Kili to hold his shoulders down easier and allow his chin to dip over the edge of the wood instead of smashing his cheek into it. Kili adjusted his legs, pressing his palms against strong shoulders. He wrapped his fingers around Fili’s triceps. It gave him a good grip that he could put all his weight into if he had to. He shared a look with his mother before nodding. 

Dis made a little sound that showed she was starting. She dug the needle in, the course horse hair thread tugged through skin slipping along more easily with each pass through the different sides of the wounds as it gathered up blood.

Fili jerked, grunting in pain. A few times the bite of the needle was too much and he bucked up against Kili’s hold. He his hands went to the sides of the table, gripping the legs for support, as if that alone would help stave off the growing agony. By the time they were halfway through he couldn’t stand it any longer, the initial pain of the whipping, now with the torture of being jabbed relentlessly, to feel his skin yank, pull and slide. He fell into a deep shout of pain.

“We are almost through,” Dis spoke loudly, trying to be reassuring even though she wasn’t even halfway done. 

By the time she was a little over halfway complete with the task she had ran out of thread. She patted a hand over her son’s clothed thigh. “Breathe and rest for a moment, Fili. I need to fetch more thread.”

Kili took this moment to leave to go deep into the damp of the cold root cellar. He dusted off a blue bottle that was stamped with a crescent moon. It was a hard spirit, reserved for occasions of great significance. It had been brought out when Fili came of age, when Kili came of age, it had been produced when Fili was announced heir and only a few times before that at Dis’ wedding as well as the birth of the dwarven brothers. It was one of, if not the, strongest brews to ever be made by dwarven hands. Only a little could make Dwalin crack his heavy mask and smile, an inch’s worth in a cup made Thorin loose and rosey cheeked. So a little bit in some cold water would definitely help numb Fili’s pain. Once he made his little drink, he brought it over to his sibling. Kneeling down he took great care in helping Fili drink a small sip.

Fili choked as the burn raged down his throat and into his core, even watered down it was a potent fuel for fire. 

“There we go, there we are,” Kili said tenderly as he stroked sweat covered bangs out of Fili’s face, making them dangle instead of mat against his brow. “Amad almost has you all sewn up, then you can sleep again.”

“Don…” Fili’s lips felt strange, slick and swollen, awkward to move. He huffed several breaths before Kili urged him to drink more. This time it was a lot and soon it was swirling around in his head making his vision tilt.

“You didn’t deserve this.” Kili rubbed at his brother’s arm for reassurance more for himself than for Fili. “The person who told you these things should have been punished… not you.”

“N-” Fili’s drunken mind misread Kili’s words. Translating over that his brother believed the kind man from his memories deserved the lashings. Fili grabbed at his brother’s arm with a surprisingly strong grip for someone that couldn’t open his eyes all the way, his mouth hanging open as he panted. “Nno. He… doesn’t de...dezzzerve annny,” he licked his lips when he felt a drop of spittle fall from his bottom lip. He took another deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts fully. “He doesn’t… deserve any… any more pain.”

Kili grabbed back, spilling the rest of the cup of liquid to the floor. He saw his chance, the chance for justice to be served, for someone to pay for the suffering his brother was going through, the pain that brought hysteria to his mother and uncle. In Fili’s drunken state he could let it slip and allow this dark secret out. 

“Who, Fili, who is he?”

Fili mumbled incoherently, unable to keep the dizzying drunken mind still. The taxing pain mixed with the strong drink was bringing a moment of tender oblivion to his damaged body.

“Fili, who?! Tell me who!” Kili shook his brother’s shoulders making his head bob.

“No,” Fili smacked his lips, finally understanding Kili’s words. He wouldn’t say, they would only try to take these precious memories away from him. Take everything away like when he lost his pendant. Just thinking about the little metal piece he wanted to reach into his pocket and touch it, draw strength from it. 

“Why?” Kili gripped the sides of his brother’s head pressing his brow against his brother’s crown. He hated this. The punishment dealt to his undeserving brother, the brother that had always looked out for him, tenderly aided him through the death of their father, who cared and nourished his creativity and individuality more than their mother and uncle. Fili was his world. Seeing him like this was too painful to bear. 

“Kili,” Dis’ quiet call announced she was back. She could smell the potent bite of liquor. She saw how limp her eldest son was, and heard how he could barely mumble his protest. It was kind of Kili to numb Fili’s pain the way he did, but to force him into questioning was not helping anyone. “Your brother has been through enough.”

Kili hesitated, he moved to bury his nose in messy golden locks, tarnished a darker hue from sweat. He blinked rapidly trying to push his own passions back. “Why?” He asked so only Fili could hear him. “Why do you protect this bastard?”

But Fili didn’t reply, he slid into a deep sleep that allowed Dis to finish her work with the quiet of only the crackling fire.


	4. Pressed

Fili didn’t talk much after his punishment. He barely gave one word answers to questions directed towards him. It was almost a week into his healing when he was allowed to sit up for longer than it took for him to eat and drink. Kili tried asking him several times to interact with him only to have his brother slowly blink and stare off into space. Their mother made sure to go out every day to try to find more herbs for his wounds and ones that would help dull the pain. Thorin threw himself into his work, only coming home late at night and leave early in the morning. 

It was early in the morning when Thorin roused to get ready for work, tired from little sleep. He was graceless as he stumbled over to his chamber pot to take a piss. He groped around for clothing in the dark room before tripping over his chamber pot and spilling the contents. He cursed at himself before lighting a candle. He lowered himself down on the edge of his bed, his room reeking. He gave a heavy sigh as he realized he couldn’t go to the forge in such a condition, he would only harm himself, or worse, harm someone else through being blinded by lack of sleep. But first he would clean up his mess.

He found himself a rag, fetched a small pail of water. Getting on his hands and knees he scrubbed at the floor. Once his task was done, the dirty water thrown out the window, he changed his clothes and found himself thirsty. He went to get himself some water before he stopped, his heart jumping into his throat from a start that he did not show externally. Sitting quietly at the table, a blanket around his shoulders, sat Fili. The slow crackling of a newly lit fire brought life to the large room and it seemed to be the only life. 

Thorin forced himself to swallow down his dry throat. He couldn’t avoid this any more, especially now he could see parts of the sown wounds on his nephew’s back. 

“Fili,” He said with a tender voice.

Fili didn’t react.

Thorin went on the other side of the table, sitting down. The fire light glinted off of the pendant he had tied around his neck, the very one that had slipped out of Fili’s pocket. 

Fili’s blue eyes turned up and for the first time in a long time his face moved into an expression. One of bitterness.

Thorin pulled the chain over his head, gathering it together and placing the necklace on the table. He kept his hand over it as he spoke, “Fili… you understand why I had to punish you?”

“No.” Fili pulled on his blanket, the fabric dragging over his stitches. 

“It was because you were talking about our honored dead as if you knew him. You mocked your mother’s memories, mocked my memories.”

Fili kept his eyes on Thorin’s hand. He remained silent. To him, he did no such thing. To him, he had been punished for no reason. He had been betrayed by his family and it left a bitter taste in his mouth and an emptiness in his heart. He thought he could trust them, believe in them to accept him no matter what brand of crazy bled through. It seemed he had been wrong. And now it felt as if Thorin was going to steal the one object in his life that he cared for.

“Fili… you must understand.”

He could he understand if Thorin wasn’t willing to talk to him beyond silence? What was the point of communication if there was none?

“He means more to me than you can possibly understand.” Thorin started. 

Fili out right glared at his uncle. It was Thorin that couldn’t understand, it was Thorin that couldn’t possibly fathom what Fili was going through. Unable to touch the one he loved, tortured with the fact that he had to live an empty, loveless, life. While Thorin and Kili could lose themselves in the body of another Fili couldn’t. He couldn’t get the high of sex without feeling a tenderness for his partner and had yet to feel completion. While suffering through his wounds, unjustly dealt, he had much time to think. He had much time to sleep and dream of the feel of that smile, the caring warmth and the painful desire to be held against the only heat that could penetrate the lonely, cold shell that he was.

“F…” Thorin took in a long breath. He hadn’t spoken the name in so long. He picked up the pendant, rolling it around with his finger tips. “Frerin.” God it hurt just to say the name. “Was… he was like no other. He had the biggest heart, the most tender soul and the most… the most just mind.” Thorin felt his stomach churn. He felt his eyes heat, prickling tears blurring his vision as he lost himself. “He died the most… most noble death. Taken by the leg, up into the air, still he fought against Bolg, Azog the Defiler’s putrid spawn.” 

He clutched the pendant, hearing the sounds of war. Seeing his little brother, still a boy, clawing at the orc with whatever weapon he had in his hand. He fought and thrashed like a wild cat before he was beat against the ground like a wet cloth against rock. He was pulled up into the air, disoriented and limp, blood dripping from his indented helmet. Then, with two powerful swips, Frerin’s head was cleaved mostly off, only a small bit of meat kept it attached. Thorin remembered how he tried to put his head back onto the stub of the neck. He could still remember the feeling of his throat tearing as he screamed and screamed. Frerin had been the last to go, the last Durin to die in that battle and Thorin had no one left. He tried to take up where Frerin had left off, taking care of Dis, finding the job much harder than he thought. He found himself hungry more often than not and as Dis grew older Thorin slept on the floor waking up sore and cold. But it wasn’t the cold that bit into his bones, it was regret. Regret for not saving his brother, regret for not treating him better when he was alive, regret for not being the older brother that he should have had.

A movement pulled him out of his memories. Fili’s fingers fanned down as he held out his hand. His glare was fierce as if telling Thorin he had no right to grieve. When the king didn’t hand over the pendant Fili moved quicker than a striking snake. He snatched it from Thorin’s hands. The grown dwarf clutched onto the chains pulling them tight. His eyes were wide with surprise, his wet eyes drying up. This was completely against the nephew he knew and loved.

Fili gave a strong jerk, breaking the chain. He clutched the pendant in his palm, pressing it against his heart. He glared at Thorin, challenging him to try to take it from him again.

Kili came in at that time, shuffling while scratching at his belly under his shirt. 

“Fili?” He yawned. “What are you doing up?”

“Pain.” Fili didn’t move his eyes from Thorin. His uncle turning his gaze away, ashamed he didn’t care enough to ask why Fili was even awake. Of course he was in pain, he should have known that.

“I’ll get amad’s herbs,” Kili put a hand on Fili’s shoulder as he passed by. “You getting ready for work, uncle?”

“No.” Thorin pushed himself out of his seat.

“Very well, then.” Kili watched bewildered by the snipped reply by his uncle as the grown dwarf went back to his room.

\--------------------------------------

The sounds of the hospital were always the same, no matter what hospital it was. The receptionist was always quiet, the receiving nurse in the ER always treated you like an idiot. There was a distant voice speaking over an intercom system that hummed at the edge of hearing. Footsteps of the staff always seemed louder than they should be, the machines ground their pings and blips together with pressured tubes all together. And it always smelled the same; of too many people, of sick and blood, of disinfectant and plastic. 

Frerin slowly blinked as he sat quietly outside the room. He was tired, he hadn’t slept for two days. Elros came and went, asking if he was okay. He only sat there, silent as a winter’s night. 

_“You fucking idiot!!” Niam screamed into his face._

_“Where the hell were you?!” Niam’s husband, Figwit, shoved at Frerin’s shoulders as the ambulance lights flashed against the wet street in front of their home._

The words echoed in his mind, clawing at his insides like a feral cat. He stared at his shoes. It was his fault, all of it was. He had trusted his mother’s health to Niam and he should never had. He had been so desperate for a break from taking care of people every minute of every day that he showed weakness. He left for two days, trying to camp again, trying to find his missing pendant. When he came back his mother was on the floor, unconscious and alone. She had forgotten her insulin for the second day in a row, Niam had left her frozen tv dinners to eat and for a heavy diabetic that was nothing but trouble. He had called 911, tried to wake her up.

He could still hear his own words begging and pleading for her to open her eyes. He could still feel her cold shoulders in his palms as he shook reverting to a child saying, “wake up, mommy, wake up!” He tried getting her warm with a heated blanket while waiting for the ambulance. He tried giving her her insulin, tried getting her to move enough to drink water, tried everything he could. And now, he was sitting outside her hospital room. She laid in a hard bed with thin blankets that could never keep heat.

Diabetic Coma. They had told him. They didn’t know if she would respond to the treatment considering her age. She could wake up at any minute, she could pass away just as fast. And like usual, he was the only one of his family that was waiting. His sister came and went with her husband, his three brothers came and went, and he was still here, just him. It felt like being abandoned on the side of the road in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar place. But what was worse, was the fact that he wasn’t alone in this abandonment. His mother was there with him.

There were some heavy footsteps before two yellow boots came into view. He didn’t look up, knowing who it was. 

“How are you holding up?” The aged voice was still light as air even though there was a touch of grief to it.

Frerin cleaned his nails as he had nothing else to fiddle with. He shrugged one shoulder, not trusting himself to speak. If he did the dam he built to hold in his emotions would break and he wasn’t certain if he would cry or scream. Perhaps both.

“I’m,” Frerin cleared his throat a few times. He nodded his head as if that would tell the whole story. “I’m okay.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Um…” He rubbed at his tired eyes. “I… I don’t know. I think two days, probably longer. Can’t, uh, can’t stop having nightmares. And if I’m asleep how can I help if she needs me? If I’m asleep how can I… How can I know if she…”

The man sat down next to him. He placed a friendly arm around Frerin’s shoulders. “Fenrir, she’s a strong woman. She’s got viking blood in her veins, she’ll pull through.”

Frerin hated his birth name. His worry fed into the instant flicker or rage that the name inspired. He always hated it. It felt wrong to be called Fenrir. It didn’t help that he was teased relentlessly with dog jokes; “you look like a dog!”, “You have the temper of a bastard!”, “Go fetch, wolf boy!”, “You’re so stupid even if you were a dog like your name says you wouldn’t be able to learn any tricks!”

Then there were his siblings that only intensified it by a thousand times, hounding him even in his sleep. A few times they had put a dog collar on him. Once, when their parents were away, they built a dog house and put him outside to sleep. They made him eat dog food and shit in the yard like a real dog until their parents came back. When they saw the car pull up they ran out back, unhooked him and threw him into the bath. He tried telling his parents, but they wouldn’t believe him. Now that he was an adult they shut up only to bite at him with sharp remarks of, “you’ll end everything” or “feel like biting off an arm again today?” He wasn’t the real Fenrir, he wasn’t a beast of the end of days, he didn’t bite off Tyr’s arm! It wasn’t him!! He did nothing!!

He pushed his face into his hands as the flicker of rage subsided with grief.

He did nothing wrong.

Why was he constantly being punished?

“It’s alright,” the hand on his back rubbed in small circles patting every once in a while.

“How is it alright?” Frerin pulled his face away from his hands, snapping his words. “I left her alone! I should have been there, I should have never left her in the care of that stupid woman! I should have known better, I should have-”

“Fenrir,” the man’s voice was stern. “Take a breath and let your old Uncle Tom speak.”

Frerin lowered his face back into his hands, scrubbing his palms over his cheeks and chin in an effort to stay calm.

“Now,” Tom pulled Frerin closer to lean against him. “She’s not going anywhere. She won’t go anywhere until she’s sure you’re settled in the right place.”

“What the fu-”

“Old Tom has to go now,” Tom spoke over him. “Keep your spirits up. After all, you’re a great wolf.”

Frerin scowled. There was nothing great about him. There never would be. He was stuck taking care of his dying father, now his dying mother. After they went he had no plans on what to do with his life, one brother may let him stay with him but Frerin didn’t have the temperament for everyday milling work. He couldn’t go back to school because he owed the school too much money already and would be denied. And he didn’t want to stay a caretaker for the rest of his life, he couldn’t handle it. 

“Mister Bombadil?” Frerin looked up catching the man that always wore yellow boots and a blue hat. 

“Yes?”

“...What does it mean to dream of… the dead?”

Tom’s brows pulled together. “Usually it’s from feeling as if you have unfinished business with someone that had passed.”

“No, I mean… being among the dead? Staring up at the blue sky, not being able to move and smelling the stench of the bodies left out under the sun until they are decomposed enough to burn.”

Tom looked at him strangely. Frerin looked away. He knew he shouldn’t have asked, but if anyone could understand dreams it was his neighbor. He had known the man since he was 11 years old, he was an honorary uncle to the blond. Frerin knew he could come to him for anything, even things that he didn’t trust to his own father and they had been close. If Tom looked at him as if he was crazy… he truly had no one left that he could rely on.

A hand pressed to the back of his head, rubbing from side to side. He looked up at Tom whose smile was still bright even though it was strained. 

“To have a dream like that… it means you feel dead inside… but look at you, still trying, still going.” Tom patted his shoulder. “Let’s get your mind off of that, shall we? Tell me about your last good dream.”

Frerin blinked, “I don’t remember one.”

Tom’s eyes looked sad despite his chipper voice, “Why don’t you come home with me? My Goldberry will cook us a good meal and you can sleep for a night.”

“I can’t! I have to stay here.”

“Trust old Tom, Fenrir. Have I ever lead you astray?”

Frerin shook his head. 

“Then lets go, you and me to old Tom’s place.” He grabbed Frerin’s jacket by the shoulder and started to pull on him. “Up we go.”

“But-”

“No, no buts, no ifs, no ors, just you and me and my Goldberry. Come along now,” He pulled Frerin after him.


	5. Pain

Dis cried, her Durin blue eyes stung and burned as she curled in on herself, her hands going through unruly red hair. She wanted to scream when she saw what was around her son’s neck. She wanted to go out into the village and rip it apart, force from the lips of the villagers who would commit such sacrilege to make a replica of her dearly departed brother’s pendant. Her son wore it with such pride, his chin held high and it hurt so much more knowing he was completely enchanted by the lies he had been told. There was no way that Fili could have known about his lost uncle. Thorin and herself had been so careful to keep it secret in hopes they could heal, now that wound has been ripped open, bleeding her strength out.

Dis wailed into her hay stuffed pillow that was already stained with tears as terrible memories came flooding back, ravaging her mind. She had worked so hard to keep it all buried, to keep that part of her life locked away to never be looked at again. The screaming dead rose in her ears making it impossible for her to hear herself. All she could see behind eyes screwed shut were the deeds that would never be repaid. A brother that carried her on his thin shoulders. He was a guiding light that sang cheery songs between coughing fits as his eyes sunk in slowly over time from eating less and less. He always had a smile for her, even when beaten and bloodied from going out to earn money in street skirmishes because he was “too young” to be a hired sword. He was the one that held her close, trying to mimic how their mother used to, in order to comfort her and chase away the nightmares of dragons. He was her world after Erebor. He was everything. He was the shoulder to cry on, the words of wisdom that their father was too busy to supply. He was the encourager as well as the one punish, spanking her bottom when she did wrong. He was the mold she tried to fit into day after day, even now, as a mother of two glorious children, but no matter how hard she tried it wouldn’t be the same. There would be no running hand in hand in the fields with someone you adored. There was no longer someone to have her sit in his lap and learn braiding from. His laugh, his smile, it was all burned in Moria! Burned away into ash and soot.

There was a dip on the edge of her bed. 

“I’m sorry.” Thorin’s thick voice was like a reverent church mouse’s sigh against her crying. “I…” He took a deep breath, blinking rapidly. It hurt to remember his little brother who always tried to be positive and helpful, but it hurt more to hear his sister so broken. She hadn’t cried like this since her husband had passed. Not even when Frerin died and he did not return home. Thorin had handed Dis Frerin’s helmet, cleaned of the blood that had pooled in it. She didn’t cry, only held onto the helmet. He had been worried something was wrong with her, but their father said that some day she would cry and it would be for the best. He did not think it would take this long. 

“You left him there!!” She curled up tighter, his joints hurting from the strain. Her face was twisted up in the hideous mask of grief. She could barely force her body to suck in a deep breath. “He didn’t want to fight and you left him THERE!!”

“I’m sorry.” Thorin squeezed his eyes shut seeing all too real the funeral pyre that held a mass of bodies, squished among them was his own brother. “I’m so sorry.”

Dis uncurled herself, throwing herself against her brother and pounding her fists against his shoulders and chest. “He wanted to go home!!”

Thorin turned his head away, trying to catch her flailing arms at the same time. She wailed like a banshee, grieving so deeply. Thorin fought against her, collecting his sister into his arms, pinning her against his chest as she struggled to face what she had refused to see for so long. He rocked slowly, resting his cheek on the crown of her head.

“He promised to come back.” Saliva stuck to her lips as she whimpered the last words out. “He promised.”

“I’m sorry.” Thorin adjusted his hold on Dis for it to be more of a comforting hug. He kissed at her red hair. Frerin didn’t want to go to that battle. He was so young, so frail, and yet he had to fight. They needed all able bodies. Thorin had said he would protect his little brother on the battlefield… they didn’t expect so many Orcs. They didn’t expect to be separated so easily… They didn’t… He didn’t… protect his little brother.

Thorin hugged Dis tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

In the main room of their small house Kili remained silent. When his mother had started to cry Thorin commanded him to stay. He wanted to go in there, hold his mama close and tell her that everything would be fine. But how could he know if his words were true when so much was unknown now? On instinct he stayed behind, listened to his uncle. He stood behind his brother who was solemnly staring into the fire, leaning forward with his hands cupped close to his chin. Dangling from his chest was the pendant that Kili could and couldn’t recognize at the same time. He had no memory of it, yet for some reason it felt as if he had seen Fili with it before. 

He went over to Fili, carefully gathering golden hair and draping it over one shoulder. He tugged back the collar of Fili’s loose tunic to peer down towards the scabbed over wounds. He could hear Fili muttering to himself but no make out any words.

“I think we let the wounds breathe enough, we can put on another poultice.” Kili went to pat Fili’s back and paused. Instead he put his hand on his brother’s head and moved it from side to side in a playful manner. 

He stepped away to gather some of the drying herbs in the kitchen to start making his poultice. 

“Kili, tell me about Forn again.”

“Forn?” Kili forced a laugh, happy to hear his mother’s cries start to die away. “You’re the one that told me about him. Don’t you remember?”

The archer paused, looking to his brother when he got no answer. Fili’s eyes were locked on him, something strange glinted in those blue eyes from the firelight. He suddenly felt uncomfortable. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt uncomfortable when it was just him and his brother. 

He cleared his throat and went back to picking at the herbs. “Yes, well. He’s old, just a fairy story. He’s a strange man, with a funny cap that has a feather in it and bright yellow boots. He lives deep in the woods where all sorts of strange creatures live. Some say it’s cursed, others say it’s blessed by the gods and the one place in our world where magic lives outside a wizard. Forn lives there, a merry man whose words bend the world to his will. He has a magic like no other. He can charm a fish to walk, cats to dance, and plants to grow. But many say that he can do more than silly spells, after all, he lives in forbidden woods, he’s tricky and sly. He likes living there all alone and if anyone disturbs that peace, he laughs and dances, tricks you into his home where you are never seen again.” Kili brought over a pot of water to start boiling with some of the herbs in it. He hooked it on a metal bar over the fire. “I’m certain there are more stories about him, but that’s the one that seems to keep from word of mouth. Some weaver wives say that he’s not called Forn but Tom Bombadil, that he has stranger powers than just trickery or charms.” He chuckled as he sat down, sticking out one leg as he slumped. “I even heard one story where a man swore he met Forn. But he couldn’t remember where or when because he charmed his memory away. Oh, then there is stories about him having a river for a wife, or the spirit of a river? I’m not too sure. It’s strange either way.”

“Strange indeed.” Fili said softly as he looked back into the fire. 

Kili watched the pot as flames heated it. It was now quiet and not in a good way. It wasn’t uncomfortable or filled with tension, it felt more like an itch deep under the skin that couldn’t be scratched. It felt strange, foreign. He mindlessly scratched at his elbow as his brother resumed his previous position and silent muttering. 

“Fili?” Kili ventured with a low voice, his dark brows drawing together.

“Hm?”

Kili shifted uncomfortably. “Those… memories, you have… for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s your fault.”

Fili didn’t respond. How could he? No one understood. No one could.

\-------------------------------------

Frerin watched his friends from the picnic table he sat on in the park. They were all dressed up in costumes that they had designed and made themselves. Plastic and wooden weapons thunked clumsily as they laughed and talked. Elros was trying to coordinate them for their reenactment practice. He sighed heavily to himself, watching with a half smile at how the bumped into each other. They reminded him of children at a school play. They were all tall, slender, and fit people, most of them decided to have either blond or red wigs on with long hair to their waists. Elros and a few others were the only ones with dark hair, looking like small dark dots in a sea of color. 

“Hey, wolf boy!” 

He frowned at the “playful” jab. He hated living in a Nordic community. 

“Why don’t get off your ass for once and join in and not serve refreshments with oldman Tom?” The teaser grinned as his horned helmet tilted to the side and he had to adjust it.

“Not allowed to.” Frerin shrugged. Besides, he liked serving refreshments with Goldberry and Tom. He liked helping them cook over the coals, he learned a new recipe every time that he could take home. It gave him something to talk to his mother about. Speaking of his mother, he heard a car engine and watched the familiar blue car of his Uncle Tom driving up the road. Today would be the first day she was allowed to get out of the house after her discharge from the hospital. 

“Mommy won’t let you off your leash?” Another laughed, nudging the first instigator who joined in. 

“Just ask Elros.” Frerin hopped down from the table. He started to make his way to the parking lot where Tom was parking.

“What the hell was that about?” The first grumbled.

“No idea.. Hey! Elros!!”

“What?!” Elros shouted somewhere deep in the crowd. 

“Why isn’t wolf boy playing?!”

“Oh, uh,” Elros looked up from the map he was holding that he had marked up positions for different groups. He held up his hand, “Everyone! Hey! Everybody!! YO!! I need your attention!”

Gradually the group started to calm down, giving their attention to the man in the middle of all the commotion. He kept his hand up to keep their attention on him. He raised his voice so everyone could hear him. “This is real important to remember, this applies to everyone! Frerin, or Wolf boy as some of you call him, is NOT, I repeat! NOT! allowed to participate!” There was a small murmur amongst the crowd. He shook his hand, the map making a kind of flag. “I am NOT joking, pulling your leg, or misdirecting you. Do not antagonize him into joining, do not try to convince his mother or Tom or Goldberry to convince him to join in. This is for safety reasons! We clear?!”

“No!” Shouted the first guy. “You didn’t tell us why!”

“PTSD! Now, Saxons, where are my Saxons! I need you in the East side of the field!”

“Which way is East?!” Someone else yelled.

“To your left!”

The two instigators looked at each other.

“Sounds like the little mama’s boy can’t handle getting a little scared. What do you think, Bert?” The first folded his arms.

“I think we need to get William in on this, Tom.” The other grinned. 

Frerin helped carry everything to the picnic area under a tall wooden roof. There was a little area in the middle to build a fire and a grate to fold over it for cooking on. Without being asked, he quickly set to building a fire with the wood that was brought as Tom unfolded camping chairs for his wife and Frerin’s mother to sit in by the building warmth.

“It’s cold today.” Frerin’s mother shivered. “Fenrir, could you get me my shall?” 

“Already on it, mom.” He had already started to bring over the tight knit garment. He wrapped it around her slim shoulders making sure to drape it over her head to keep her ears warm. He kissed her temple as she patted his hand. 

“Thank you, my little wolf.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“Well, what else is your mother supposed to call you? Frerin?” She laughed in her throat. “Such a silly name.”

Frerin sighed as he walked over to the table where Tom was getting things prepared. 

“Don’t mind her.” Tom smiled.

“It’s okay.” Frerin shrugged a shoulder. “She’s having a good day when she only calls me silly.” He looked up, watching the reenactment get sorted into starting positions. Something strange always pulled at him when he saw the formations. He knew they were off, wrong, but it didn’t matter. It made his knees feel weak, his stomach clench tight with terror and anticipation. 

“Frerin, old uncle Tom and his Goldberry were hoping you would join us in a few weeks.”

“A few weeks? For what?”

“Oh nothing big, it’s just a special day for us and we were hoping you would come and join.”

“Sure, I don’t mind.”

They set to work, Frerin listening to Tom’s instructions. The sounds of the reenactment behind them set off, people yelling at each other as they ran towards one another. Frerin’s mind did what it always did when these events happened. It shut down, his body stiffening as he simply allowed Tom’s words to conduct his movements. 

No one ever asked why he does this. No one ever wondered why his eyes were fogged and distant. Then again, no one could understand what he saw; Dark figures, large and humanoid. Flickers of flaming light flew across the blackened sky looking like falling stars landing in the endless sea of beasts. Someone was beside him, the only thing anchoring him in his fear.


End file.
